The Crash of Thunder
by Bookaholic711
Summary: Rose Weasley always had a loud presence in Scorpius' life. She was beautiful, strong, and potent. She was, had always been, his thunder. SM/RW oneshot.


****Disclaimer: All characters, locations, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics belong to Boys Like Girls. No copyright infringement is intended with the posting of this story.**

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_"Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors. I don't want to ever love another; you'll always be my thunder. So bring on the rain, and bring on the thunder."_

Boom. Crash. Bang. Pow. Ba-bam.

She'd never been quiet. From the very first time Scorpius Malfoy had laid eyes on Rose Weasley, she'd had a presence in his life. That first moment, on Platform 9 ¾ when his father had pointed to her, Scorpius heard a sound inside of his head, like the crash of storm. It was the sound of change.

Rose was not a simple girl; she was as complex as they come. At first, she appeared to hate him. Yet the first time they spoke, she was nothing but friendly.

The Hogwarts teachers were nothing if not smart, and it took them only a few days to realize that Rose and Scorpius were by far the smartest in their Year. So, alas, when the first partner project was announced in Potions, they were paired together.

Scorpius had been studying the girl for weeks. She was a Ravenclaw, a short, sturdy girl with a bush of coppery hair. For all intents and purposes, Rose Weasley was perfectly normal; to Scorpius she was everything but.

She slammed her book down on the table that day. Bam. She opened it forcefully, like everything she did had to be done intensely or not at all. When she turned to him, the intensity was in her expression. To his surprise, it was in her smile.

"Thank God," she whispered, placing her hand lightly over his on the table. "I was worried that I was going to get stuck with someone who wouldn't do any work."

Rose removed her hand and looked at the book, but the image of her eyes was burned into Scorpius' mind. Like her, like everything about her, they were powerful, potent. A bright blue color, they shone with a passion that he'd never seen before.

"We need newt's eyes, moonslang skin, and a rat's tail," she said, without looking up.

Scorpius nodded, uttering the first words he would ever say in her presence. "I'll do it for you." He got up to get the ingredients.

For weeks, their conversation rung in his mind. The feel of her hand on top of his left his skin tingling when he recalled it. Her small whisper, her relief at being paired with him stared in his dreams. And her blue eyes, those bright, ocean blue eyes, he saw them on every surface that he looked at.

He did not love her, oh no, not yet. She fascinated him. Outside of class, they did not speak, but he felt her. He heard her vigorous personality everywhere. Her footsteps pounded as she walked down the corridor; her books landed loudly on the table. Her voice carried across the Great Hall as she laughed with her friends and family. Her hand whooshed into the air when she knew the answer. Her breath caught when the professors revealed something surprising. Her quill scratched on the paper as she did her assignments in the library.

She was loud. She was powerful. She was vibrant. She was everywhere.

They were partnered in almost every class. When they worked together, they spoke. Otherwise, Rose pretended that Scorpius did not exist.

He was never blind to her.

Years went by. Every time they worked together, Scorpius would feel full. Full of noise, of life, full of _Rose_. It was as if whenever he spoke to her, a little of her vitality rubbed off onto him. It lasted for a few days; for a few days he felt more alive than ever. Then it would fade, and he would go back to his normal existence. He would laugh with his Slytherin friends, send letters to his parents, do his homework in the library. But it always felt empty. It felt like something was missing.

Sometimes, when they were together, he would feel it building up inside him. It was like a match that was lit in his heart. She was the oxygen that blew on the fire, and when she was there, it grew bigger. The urge to reach out and touch her, to smooth down her hair or place his hand over hers would suddenly overcome him. He squashed it down, allowing her loudness to distract him.

Scorpius realized it over the summer. He spent the summer before his fifth year sitting in his room. Draco had purchased a new broomstick for him, but he would not fly it. Astoria had bought her son book after book, but he would not even pick them up. Scorpius was preoccupied with a voice, a fervent, impassioned spirit that existed hundreds of miles away. Despite the distance, all he heard was the voice of Rose Weasley.

Sometimes, when his parents were out and his muscles unfroze from the shock of discovering, he would wander out into the house. He would go to the kitchen and sit at the table. The fields where he used to play Quidditch would beckon him through the window, but the object he was interested in was in the room.

A little white box, purchased by his mother just in case; that was what Scorpius had his eyes on. It was a Muggle invention, a telephone. Astoria had wished, once upon a time, that her son would follow her footsteps in Ravenclaw. She had hoped that maybe he would befriend a Muggle-born, that maybe that phone would be necessary. But his mother had given up this hope long ago; it was only out of pride that she left the object in the house.

She had no idea how much he was dying to use it.

He knew her telephone number; he'd heard her give it to a friend as she was leaving King's Cross years ago. Involuntarily, he'd memorized it.

Scorpius could call her. All he had to do was pick up the phone, dial the number, ask for Rose. No one would ask. No one would question him.

But the cream-colored escape remained in its cradle. He could not do it.

On the train to Hogwarts, he caught sight of her. Scorpius felt his heart race, but he did not walk towards her. He reminded himself, they were not friends. Goyle called out to him, and he walked into the compartment and shut the door, cutting off his view of Rose.

The rooms were suffocating. The castle was suddenly too small for both Rose and Scorpius. Being in the same room with her, the urge to touch her, to talk to her, to tell her everything, became overwhelming. He needed to get outside.

How much of his fifth year he spent on the grounds, he could not tell you. At first he ran, the long grass rubbing at his ankles, catching at his feet. He finally picked up the broomstick that his father had given him. Scorpius raced around the lake, feeling the wind on his face, smelling the salty air from the water below. On days when he couldn't handle the stuffiness of the castle, he would skip his classes just to make sure that he still knew how to breathe.

Even outside, over the lake, with the wind pounding in his ears, he could hear Rose. He could her walking, talking, laughing, and working. Scorpius could hear her every move.

When he went home that year, he was full of Rose. But being full of her didn't feel like it used to. It was no longer a transfer of her vitality into him; now it was him longing for that feeling. He was longing to feel alive.

That summer was not spent in his room, but outside. His parents rarely saw him as he spent every moment run, flying, swimming, doing anything to drown her voice, her loudness, her essence out of his ears. Those bright blue eyes were still burned into his vision, her now soft, wavy copper hair added to the picture. Her rose-petal lips, her curving nose, they flashed on every surface. He counted the days until he would see her again. But it was not the same.

She was loud. She was vibrant. And suddenly she was gone.

Rose mopped. Her footsteps were quiet; she opened her book softly. He no longer saw her furiously writing in the library. He saw her in the Great Hall, sitting separate from her friends. She worked silently in class. When they got paired together, she did not speak to him.

Finally, he could not take it anymore.

"Rose," he said, his voice an unconscious whisper. "What's wrong?"

She only shook her head, pointing the ingredients list to see if there was anything else they needed.

"Rose," Scorpius repeated. "Don't give me that. I know something's wrong."

"They don't see it," she said, the intensity gone from her voice. "They don't know." She looked up at him. Those blue eyes, so bright in the past, so alive, brimmed over with tears.

"Don't see what?" he asked. When he saw her hesitate, he continued. "You can tell me, Rose. You can trust me."

The match, the one that had been lit in his heart, caught fire. The urge built up inside of him until he couldn't take it anymore. He had to do something.

So slowly, softly, carefully, he laid his hand on top of hers.

It was the same movement that she had made six years ago when they'd first worked together. Then it was light, innocent. Then, it had meant nothing. Now it had years of history behind it. Years of watching, of noticing, of wishing were all put into that one gesture. Scorpius put all of his feelings in, and somehow, he knew that Rose felt them.

"I know," she said. But Rose did not open her mouth to continue, and they were saved from the awkwardness by the teacher calling the class to attention.

The old Rose was back, but it was not quite the same. He still felt her fiery personality, but he saw the pain underneath. He saw the parts of Rose that sometimes wished someone would notice her, the part that wished she was someone else. Scorpius suddenly realized that Rose—like her cousins—had been living her life in a shadow. Hers was a double shadow, two expectations and two amazing parents to live up to. She had to be as smart as her mother, as funny as her father, as brave and courageous as her whole family was known for. And though she was strong, she was not perfect.

At first, Scorpius thought their conversation had changed nothing. They still didn't speak outside of class; he had not yet gathered up the nerve to tell her the truth. But then he started noticing them. The changes were subtle, but they were there. Rose met his eyes across the Great Hall. She nodded at him in the hallway. And sometimes, when he knew she was feeling sad, she would lean in closer to him in class.

As with last year, the castle suddenly felt too small. Time was moving too quickly; there wasn't enough space for him to think. Despite years of fascination and realizing that he wanted far more than friendship from Rose, he wasn't ready. He wasn't even ready to speak to her. He needed time.

But as much as he felt that he needed that time, he didn't want it. He wanted to walk up to her every moment and just spill the truth in front of her. He was sick of hiding, hiding from her, from himself, from everyone. He just wanted it out. Scorpius wanted, more than anything, to help Rose. He wanted to make her happy, to feel that vibrant spirit that he used to feel when he was with her.

Many days, he found himself sitting against an oak tree by the lake. He didn't want to drown out Rose's voice anymore; he wanted to feel it, loudly, pumping through his veins. Sixth year was coming to a close, and he wanted to fill up with Rose—the good kind of full—before he had to leave her again.

One day, to his surprise, he heard footsteps as he sat in his sanctuary. Not just footsteps, prominent footsteps. The footsteps of someone who knows where they're going and what they're doing. Rose's footsteps.

She swept down beside him, dropping her books onto the ground. Her body was pressed up against his, their shoulders and legs touching. It was the contact he'd longed for for years, yet it was not nearly enough.

"Scorpius," she said, not by way of greeting, but trying to get his attention.

"Hi Rose," he whispered.

"You're out here a lot." It was not a question.

"I can think here," he replied, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

They sat in silence for a moment. Scorpius could feel Rose's body heat through her jeans, her shoulder burning into his arm. He was taller than her, but sitting their heads were almost level.

"I wanted to thank you," she said suddenly. "You saved me at the beginning of the year. I was... I was being stupid. I felt like no one understood."

He turned and looked at her. The intensity of her eyes shone out at him. "You're allowed to feel pain."

"Sometimes," she whispered. "Sometimes it feels like I'm not allowed to."

Instinct took over him, and he snaked his arm around her shoulders. His hand subconsciously pulled her closed to him. "You don't have to be perfect all the time, Rose."

Rose bit her lip, looking away from him. "I'm never perfect, Scorpius. I have to make up for it somehow."

"You're perfect all the time," the words that he'd held inside for years suddenly came pouring out. "Your imperfections only make you more perfect. Your vibrant personality shines through; you're uncommonly good. You're smart, you're nice, you're beautiful, but you don't see any of it. And that only make you more perfect."

Mentally, he smacked himself. He hadn't meant for all of that to come out; he hadn't meant to scare her off. But it was too late now, the words were said. He watched as she blinked, seemingly trying to understand.

Finally, she swallowed. "I come with a lot of problems, Scorpius. I'm pretty messed up inside."

He shook his head. "I know. But sometimes it doesn't matter. Sometimes… people can help you overcome those problems, if you give them the chance."

"Sometimes it does matter, though."

He sighed, thinking of how to explain it. "Ever since I met you, Rose, you've been like a thunderstorm. I can hear your personality everywhere. For years, I've heard you coming closer and closer. You're strong, powerful. This year, I saw the lightning too, but I caught the first glimpse of the rain." He shifted on the ground, turning his entire body to face her. "But you know what, Rose? I'll take the rain, as long as I can have the thunder too."

Rose gulped. "A thunderstorm? Those are pretty destructive."

"Impressive, I've always thought," he said. "Like the universe suddenly has too much in it to stay silent for another second. Sometimes it means destruction, but sometimes there's just beauty. A storm can destroy, but it can also save a society from that very destruction. Sometimes, it's exactly what someone needs."

"Thunder," she said. "I like it."

Scorpius smiled. "You'll always be my thunder."

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_AN: A few short things before we part..._

_1) This oneshot is part of the awesometastic Project PULL. Visit my profile for links and details. (We **will** be sending out PMs this time, they just might take a while.)_

_2) The song is "Thunder" by Boys Like Girls. It's fantastic song, so you should go listen to it. Right now. _

_3) Thank you so much to **xXIceShadowXx **for betaing this. Isn't it so much easier when I'm not writing my story the day it needs to be posted?_

_4) Thanks to **To Kill A Mockingjay** for just being awesome. I love you more than air, Rachel, and I'll always be here for you. _

_I hope you enjoyed it and thanks so much for reading!_


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